"Mercedes Lackey - Aliens Ate My Pickup" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

laugh, an' finally got tired'a bein' the main course fer the skeeters an'
chiggers an' headed back home. I fell inta bed an' didn' think nothin' about
it till I walked out next mornin'.

An' dang if there ain't a big ol' mess in the middle'a my best hayfield! What?
Oh heckfire, ma'am, it was one'a them crop circle things, like on the cover'a
that Led Zeppelin record. Purely ruint m'hay. You cain't let hay get flattened
down like that, spoils it right quick 'round here if they's been any dew, an'
it was plenty damp that mornin'.
How'd I feel? Ma'am, I was hot. I figgered it was them scifi writers, foolin'
with me; them city folk, they dunno you cain't do that t'hay. But they didn'
have no cause t'fool with me like that, we bin pretty good neighbors so far, I
even bought their books an' liked 'em pretty much too, 'cept for the stuff
'bout the horses. Ev'body knows a white horse's deaf as a post, like as not,
less'n' it's one'a them Lippyzaners. Ain't no horse gonna go read yer mind, or
go ridin' through fire an' all like that an'—

Oh, yeah. Well, I got on th' phone, gonna give 'em what for, an' turns out
they're gone! One'a them scifi conventions. So it cain't be them.

Well, shoot, now I dunno what t'think. That's when I heerd it, under th'
porch. Somethin' whimperin', like.

Now y'know what happens when you live out in the country. People dump their
dang-blasted strays all th' time, thinkin' some farmer'll take care of 'em.
Then like as not they hook up with one'a the dog packs an' go wild an' start
runnin' stock. Well, I guess I gotta soft heart t'match my soft head, I take
'em in, most times. Get 'em fixed, let 'em run th' rabbits outa my garden.
Coyotes get 'em sooner or later, but I figger while they're with me, they at
least got t'eat and gotta place t'sleep. So I figgered it was 'nother dang
stray, an' I better get 'im out from under th' porch 'fore he messes under
there an' it starts t'smell.

So I got down on m'hands an' knees like a pure durn fool, an' I whistled an'
coaxed, an' carried on like some kinda dim bulb, an' finally that stray come
out. But ma'am, what come outa that porch weren't no dog.

It was about the ugliest thing on six legs I ever seen in my life. Ma'am, that
critter looked like somebody done beat out a fire on its face with a ugly
stick. Looked like five miles 'a bad road. Like the reason first cousins
hadn't ought t'get married. Two liddle, squinchy eyes that wuz all pupil, nose
like a burnt pancake, jaws like a bear-trap. Hide all mangy and patchy, part
scales and part fur, an' all of it putrid green. No ears that I could see. Six
legs, like I said, an' three tails, two of 'em whippy and ratty, an' one sorta
like a club. It drooled, an' its nose ran. Id'a been afraid of it, 'cept it
crawled outa there with its three tails 'tween its legs, whimperin' an'
wheezin' an' lookin' up at me like it was 'fraid I was gonna beat it. I
figgered, hell, poor critter's scarder of me than I am of it—an' if it looks
ugly t'me, reckon I must look just's ugly right back.